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AFTERMATH 



HENRY WADSWORTH LONGFELLOW, 




BOSTON : 
JAMES R. OSGOOD AND COMPANY, 

Late Ticknor & Fields, and Fields, Osgood, & Co. 
1874. 



^t 



tf> 



w K 



Entered according to Act of Congress, in the year 1873, 

BY HENRY "WADSWORTH LONGFELLOW, 

in the Office of the Librarian of Congress, at Washington. 

By Trantftr 
JUN 5 1907 



University Press : Welch, Bigelow, & Co. 
Cambridge. 



CONTENTS. 

♦— 

I. 

TALES OF A WAYSIDE INK 

Page 

Prelude 1 

The Spanish Jew's Tale. 

Azrael 6 

Interlude 10 

The Poet's Tale. 

Charlemagne 13 

Interlude 17 

The Student's Tale. 

Emma and Eginhard 21 

Interlude 33 

The Theologian's Tale. 

Elizabeth 38 

Interlude 63 

The Sicilian's Tale. 

The Monk of Casal-Maggiore . . . .66 

Interlude 84 

The Spanish Jew's Second Tale. 

scanderbeg 86 

Interlude 96 



IV CONTENTS. 

The Musician's Tale. 

The Mother's Ghost 101 

Interlude 107 

The Landlord's Tale. 

The Rhyme of Sir Christopher . . .110 
Finale 119 



II. 

BIRDS OF PASSAGE. 

Fata Morgana 125 

The Haunted Chamber 127 

The Meeting 130 

Vox Populi 132 

The Castle-Builder .133 

Changed 135 

The Challenge 130 

The Biiook and the Wave 139 

From the Spanish Cancioneros .... 140 

Aftermath .... ... 144 



TALES OF A WAYSIDE INK 



r 

PART THIRD. 



I 






PKELUDE. 

The evening came ; the golden vane 
A moment in the sunset glanced, 
Then darkened, and then gleamed again, 
As from the east the moon advanced 
And touched it with a softer light ; 
While underneath, with flowing mane, 
Upon the sign the Red Horse pranced, 
And galloped forth into the night. 

But brighter than the afternoon 
That followed the dark day of rain, 
And brighter than the golden vane 
That glistened in the rising moon, 
Within the ruddy firelight gleamed ; 
l 



Z TALES OF A WAYSIDE INN. 

And every separate window-pane, 
Backed by the outer darkness, showed 
A mirror, where the flamelets gleamed 
And flickered to and fro, and seemed 
A bonfire lighted in the road. 

Amid the hospitable glow, 
Like an old actor on the stage, 
With the uncertain voice of age, 
The singing chimney chanted low 
The homely songs of long ago. 

The voice that Ossian heard of 3 7 ore, 
When midnight winds were in his hall 
A ghostly and appealing call, 
A sound of days that are no more ! 
And dark as Ossian sat the Jew, 
And listened to the sound, and knew 
The passing of the airy hosts, 
The gray and misty cloud of ghosts 



PRELUDE. d 

In their interminable flight ; 

And listening muttered in his beard, 

With accent indistinct and weird, 

" Who are ye, children of the Night ? " 

Beholding his mysterious face, 
" Tell me," the gay Sicilian said, 
" Why was it that in breaking bread 
At supper, you bent down your head 
And, musing, paused a little space, 
As one who says a silent grace ? " 

The Jew replied, with solemn air, 
" I said the Manichsean's prayer. 
It was his faith, — perhaps is mine, — 
That life in all its forms is one, 
And that its secret conduits run 
Unseen, but in unbroken line, 
From the great fountain-head divine 
Through man and beast, through grain and 
grass. 



4 TALES OF A WAYSIDE INN. 

Howe'er we struggle, strive, and cry, 
From death there can be no escape, 
And no escape from life, alas ! 
Because we cannot die, hut pass 
Prom one into another shape : 
It is but into life we die. 

" Therefore the Manichaean said 
This simple prayer on breaking bread, 
Lest he with hasty hand or knife 
Might wound the incarcerated life, 
The soul in things that we call dead : 
i I did not reap thee, did not bind thee, 
I did not thrash thee, did not grind thee, 
Nor did I in the oven bake thee ! 
It was not I, it was another 
Did these things unto thee, brother ; 
I only have thee, hold thee, break thee ! ' 

" That birds have souls I can concede," 



PRELUDE. 

The poet cried, with glowing cheeks ; 
" The flocks that from their beds of reed 
Uprising north or southward fly, 
And flying write upon the sky 
The biforked letter of the Greeks, 
As hath been said by Rucellai ; 
All birds that sing or chirp or cry, 
Even those migratory bands, 
The minor poets of the air, 
The plover, peep, and sanderling, 
That hardly can be said to sing, 
But pipe along the barren sands, — 
All these have souls akin to ours ; 
So hath the lovely race of flowers : 
Thus much-I grant, but nothing more. 
The rusty hinges of a door 
Are not alive because they creak ; 
This chimney, with its dreary roar, 
These rattling windows, do not speak ! " 
" To me they speak," the Jew replied; 



6 TALES OF A WAYSIDE INN. 

" And in the sounds that sink and soar, 

I hear the voices of a tide 

That breaks upon an unknown shore I " 

Here the Sicilian interfered : 
" That was your dream, then, as you dozed 
A moment since, with eyes half-closed, 
And murmured something in your beard." 
The Hebrew smiled, and answered, " Nay ; 
Not that, but something very near ; 
Like, and yet not the same, may seem 
The vision of my waking dream ; 
Before it wholly dies away, 
Listen to me, and you shall hear." 



THE SPANISH JEW'S TALE. 



AZRAEL. 



King Solomon, before his palace gate 
At evening, on the pavement tessellate 
Was walking with a stranger from the East, 
Arrayed in rich attire as for a feast, 
The mighty Runjeet-Sing, a learned man, 
And Rajah of the realms of Hindostan. 
And as they walked the guest, became aware 
Of a white figure in the twilight air, 
Gazing intent, as one who with surprise 
His form and features seemed to recognize ; 
And in a whisper to the king he said : 
" What is yon shape, that, pallid as the dead, 
Is watching me, as if he sought to trace 
In the dim light the features of my face ? " 



8 TALES OF A WAYSIDE INN. 

The king looked, and replied : " I know him well ; 
It is the Angel men call Azrael, 
'T is the Death Angel ; What hast thou to fear? " 
And the guest answered : " Lest he should come 

near, 
And speak to me, and take away my breath ! 
Save me from Azrael, save me from death ! 
king, that hast dominion o'er the wind, 
Bid it arise and bear me hence to Ind." 

The king gazed upward at the cloudless sky, 
Whispered a word, and raised his hand on high, 
And lo ! the signet-ring of chrysoprase 
On his uplifted finger seemed to blaze 
With hidden fire, and rushing from the west 
There came a mighty wind, and seized the guest 
And lifted him from earth, and on they passed, 
His shining garments streaming in the blast, 
A silken banner o'er the walls upreared, 
A purple cloud, that gleamed and disappeared. 



AZRAEL. 9 

Then said the Angel, smiling : " If this man 
Be Rajah Runjeet-Sing of Hindostan, 
Thou hast done well in listening to his prayer ; 
I was upon my way to seek him there." 



ISTTEKLUDE. 

" Edrehi, forbear to-night 
Your ghostly legends of affright, 
And let the Talmud rest in peace ; 
Spare us your dismal tales of death 
That almost take away one's breath ; 
So doing, may your tribe increase." 

Thus the Sicilian said ; then went 
And on the spinet's rattling keys 
Played Marianina, like a breeze 
From Naples and the Southern seas, 
That brings us the delicious scent 
Of citron and of orange trees, 



INTERLUDE. 11 

And memories of soft days of ease 
At Capri and Amalfi spent. 

" Not so," the eager Poet said ; 

" At least, not so before I tell 

The story of my Azrael, 

An angel mortal as ourselves, 

Which in an ancient tome I found 

Upon a convent's dusty shelves, 

Chained with an iron chain, and bound 

In parchment, and with clasps of brass, 

Lest from its prison, some dark day, 

It might be stolen or steal away, 

While the good friars were singing mass. 

" It is a tale of Charlemagne, 
When like a thunder-cloud, that lowers 
And sweeps from mountain-crest to coast, 
With lightning flaming through its showers, 



12 TALES OF A WAYSIDE IXX. 

He swept across the Lombard plain, 
Beleaguering with his warlike train 
Pavia, the country's pride and boast, 
The City of the Hundred Towers." 

Thus heralded the tale began „ 
And thus in sober measure ran. 



THE POET'S TALE. 



CHARLEMAGNE. 



Olger the Dane and Desiderio, 
King of the Lombards, on a lofty tower 
Stood gazing northward o'er the rolling plains, 
League after league of harvests, to the foot 
Of the snow-crested Alps, and saw approach 
A mighty army, thronging all the roads 
That led into the city. And the King 
Said unto Olger, who had passed his youth 
As hostage at the court of France, and knew 
The Emperor's form and face : " Is Charlemagne 
Among that host?" And Olger answered: 
" No." 

And still the innumerable multitude 
Flowed onward and increased, until the King 



14 TALES OF A WAYSIDE INN. 

Cried in amazement : " Surely Charlemagne 
Is coming in the midst of all these knights ! " 
And Olger answered slowly : " No ; not yet ; 
He will not come so soon." Then much dis- 
turbed 
King Desiderio asked : " What shall we do, 
If he approach with a still greater army ? " 
And Olger answered : " When he shall appear, 
You will behold what manner of man he is ; 
But what will then befall us I know not." 

Then came the guard that never knew repose, 
The Paladins of France ; and at the sight 
The Lombard King o'crcome with terror cried : 
" This must be Charlemagne ! " and as before 
Did Olger answer : "No; not yet, not yet." 

And then appeared in panoply complete 
The Bishops and the Abbots and the Priests 
Of the imperial chapel, and the Counts ; 



CHARLEMAGNE. 15 

And Desiderio could no more endure 

The light of day, nor yet encounter death, 

But sobbed aloud and said : " Let us go down 

And hide us in the bosom of the earth, 

Far from the sight and anger of a foe 

So terrible as this ! " And Olger said : 

" When you behold the harvests in the fields 

Shaking with fear, the Po and the Ticino 

Lashing the city walls with iron waves, 

Then may you know that Charlemagne is come." 

And even as he spake, in the northwest, 

Lo ! there uprose a black and threatening cloud, 

Out of whose bosom flashed the light of arms 

Upon the people pent up in the city ; 

A light more terrible than any darkness ; 

And Charlemagne appeared ; — a Man of Iron ! 

His helmet was of iron, and his gloves 

Of iron, and his breastplate and his greaves 

And tassets were of iron, and his shield. 



16 TALES OF A WAYSIDE INN. 

In his left hand he held an iron spear, 

In his right hand his sword invincible. 

The horse he rode on had the strength of iron, 

And color of iron. All who went before him, 

Beside him and behind him, his whole host, 

Were armed with iron, and their hearts within 

them 
Were stronger than the armor that they wore. 
The fields and all the roads were filled with iron, 
And points of iron glistened in the sun 
And shed a terror through the city streets. 

This at a single glance Olger the Dane 
Saw from the tower, and turning to the King 
Exclaimed in haste : " Behold ! this is the man 
You looked for with such eagerness ! " and then 
Fell as one dead at Desiderio's feet. 



INTERLUDE. 

Well pleased all listened to the tale, 
That drew, the Student said, its pith 
And marrow from the ancient myth 
Of some one with an iron flail ; 
Or that portentous Man of Brass 
Hephaestus made in days of yore, 
Who stalked about the Cretan shore, 
And saw the ships appear and pass, 
And threw stones at the Argonauts, 
Being filled with indiscriminate ire 
That tangled and perplexed his thoughts ; 
But, like a hospitable host, 
When strangers landed on the coast, 
Heated himself red-hot with fire, 



18 TALES OF A WAYSIDE INN. 

And hugged them in his arms, and pressed 
Their bodies to his burning breast. 

The Poet answered : "No, not thus 

The legend rose ; it sprang at first 

Out of the hunger and the thirst 

In all men for the marvellous. 

And thus it filled and satisfied 

The imagination of mankind, 

And this ideal to the mind 

Was truer than historic fact. 

Fancy enlarged and multiplied 

The terrors of the awful name 

Of Charlemagne, till he became 

Armipotent in every act, 

And, clothed in mystery, appeared 

Not what men saw, but what they feared." 

The Theologian said : " Perchance 
Your chronicler in writing this 



INTERLUDE. 19 

Had in his mind the Anabasis, 



Where Xenophon describes the advance 
Of Artaxerxes to the fight ; 
At first the low gray cloud of dust, 
And then a blackness o'er the fields 
As of a passing thunder-gust, 
Then flash of brazen armor bright, 
And ranks of men, and spears up-thrust, 
Bowmen and troops with wicker shields, 
And cavalry equipped in white, 
And chariots ranged in front of these 
With scythes upon their axle-trees." 



To this the Student answered : " Well, 
I also have a tale to tell 
Of Charlemagne ; a tale that throws 
A softer light, more tinged with rose, 
Than your grim apparition cast 
Upon the darkness of the past. 



20 TALES OP A WAYSIDE INN. 

Listen, and hear in English rhyme 
What the good Monk of Lauresheim 
Gives as the gossip of his time, 
In mediaeval Latin prose." 



THE STUDENT'S TALE. 

EMMA AND EGTNHARD. 

When Alcuin tauglit the sons of Charlemagne, 
In the free schools of Aix, how kings should 

reign, 
And with them taught the children of the poor 
How subjects should be patient and endure, 
He touched the lips of some, as best befit, 
With honey from the hives of Holy Writ ; 
Others intoxicated with the wine 
Of ancient history, sweet but less divine ; 
Some with the wholesome fruits of grammar 

fed; 
Others with mysteries of the stars o'erhead, 
That hang suspended in the vaulted sky 
Like lamps in some fair palace vast and high. 



22 TALES OF A WAYSIDE INN. 

In sooth, it was a pleasant sight to see 
That Saxon monk, with hood and rosary, 
With inkhorn at his belt, and pen and book, 
And mingled love and reverence in his look, 
Or hear the cloister and the court repeat 
The measured footfalls of his sandaled feet, 
Or watch him with the pupils of his school, 
Gentle of speech, but absolute of rule. 

Among them, always earliest in his place, 
Was Eginhard, a youth of Frankish race, 
Whose face was bright with flashes that forerun 
The splendors of a yet unrisen sun. 
To him all things were possible, and seemed 
Not what he had accomplished, but had dreamed, 
And what were tasks to others were his play, 
The pastime of an idle holiday. 

Smaragdo, Abbot of St. Michael's, said, 
With many a shrug and shaking of the head, 



EMMA AND EGINHARD. 23 

Surely some demon must possess the lad, 
Who showed more wit than ever school-boy had, 
And learned his Trivium thus without the rod ; 
But Alcuin said it was the grace of God. 

Thus he grew up, in Logic point-device, 

Perfect in Grammar, and in Rhetoric nice ; 

Science of Numbers, Geometric art, 

And lore of Stars, and Music knew by heart ; 

A Minnesinger, long before the times 

Of those who sang their love in Suabian rhymes. 

The Emperor, when he heard this good report 
Of Eginhard much buzzed about the court, 
Said to himself, " This stripling seems to be 
Purposely sent into the world for me ; 
He shall become my scribe, and shall be schooled 
In all the arts whereby the world is ruled." 
Thus did the gentle Eginhard attain 
To honor in the court of Charlemagne ; 



24 TALES OF A WAYSIDE INN. 

Became the sovereign's favorite, liis right hand, 
So that his fame was great in all the land, 
And all men loved him for his modest grace 
And comeliness of figure and of face. 
An inmate of the palace, yet recluse, 
A man of books, yet sacred from abuse 
Among the armed knights with spur on heel, 
The tramp of horses and the clang of steel ; 
And as the Emperor promised he was schooled 
In all the arts by which the world is ruled. 
But the one art supreme, whose law is fate, 
The Emperor never dreamed of till too late. 

Home from her convent to the palace came 
The lovely Princess Emma, whose sweet name, 
Whispered by seneschal or sung by bard, 
Had often touched the soul of Eginhard. 
He saw her from his window, as in state 
She came, by knights attended through the gate ; 
He saw her at the banquet of that day, 



EMMA AND EGINHARD. 25 

Fresh as the morn, and beautiful as May ; 
He saw her in the garden, as she strayed 
Among the flowers of summer with her maid, 
And said to him, " Eginhard, disclose 
The meaning and the mystery of the rose " ; 
And trembling he made answer : "In good 

sooth, 
Its mystery is love, its meaning youth ! " 

How can I tell the signals and the signs 
By which one heart another heart divines ? 
How can I tell the many thousand ways 
By which it keeps the secret it betrays ? 

mystery of love ! strange romance ! 
Among the Peers and Paladins of France, 
Shining in steel, and prancing on gay steeds, 
Noble by birth, yet nobler by great deeds, 
The Princess Emma had no words nor looks 
But for this clerk, this man of thought and books. 

2 



26 TALES OF A WAYSIDE INN. 

The summer passed, the autumn came ; the stalks 
Of lilies blackened in the garden walks ; 
The leaves fell, russet-golden and blood-red, 
Love-letters thought the poet fancy-led, 
Or Jove descending in. a shower of gold 
Into the lap of Danae of old ; 
For poets cherish many a strange conceit, 
And love transmutes all nature by its heat. 
No more the garden lessons, nor the dark 
And hurried meetings in the twilight park ; 
But now the studious lamp, and the delights 
Of firesides in the silent winter nights, 
And watching from his window hour by hour 
The light that burned in Princess Emma's 
tower. 

At length one night, while musing by the fire, 
O'ercome at last by his insane desire, — 
For what will reckless love not do and dare ? — 
He crossed the court, and climbed the winding 
stair, 



EMMA AND EGINIIARD, 27 

With some feigned message in the Emperor's 

name ; 
But when he to the lady's presence came 
He knelt down at her feet, until she laid 
Her hand upon him, like a naked blade, 
And whispered in his ear : " Arise, Sir Knight, 
To my heart's level, my heart's delight." 

And there he lingered till the crowing cock, 
The Alectryon of the farmyard and the flock, 
Sang his aubade with lusty voice and clear, 
To tell the sleeping world that dawn was near. 
And then they parted ; but at parting, lo ! 
They saw the palace court-yard white with snow, 
And, placid as a nun, the moon on high 
Gazing from cloudy cloisters of the sky. 
" Alas ! " he said, " how hide the fatal line 
Of footprints leading from thy door to mine, 
And none returning ! " Ah, he little knew 
What woman's wit, when put to proof, can do ! 



28 TALES OF A WAYSIDE INN. 

That night the Emperor, sleepless with the cares 
And troubles that attend on state affairs, 
Had risen before the dawn, and musing gazed 
Into the silent night, as one amazed 
To see the calm that reigned o'er all supreme, 
When his own reign was but a troubled dream. 
The moon lit up the gables capped with snow, 
And the white roofs, and half the court below, 
And he beheld a form, that seemed to cower 
Beneath a burden, come from Emma's tower, — 
A woman, who upon her shoulders bore 
Clerk Eginhard to his own private door, 
•And then returned in haste, but still essayed 
To tread the footprints she herself had made ; 
And as she passed across the lighted space, 
The Emperor saw his daughter Emma's face ! 

He started not ; he did not speak or moan, 
But seemed as one who hath been turned to 
stone ; 



EMMA AND EGINHARD. 29 

And stood there like a statue, nor awoke 
Out of his trance of pain, till morning broke, 
Till the stars faded, and the moon went down, 
And o'er the towers and steeples of the town 
Came the gray daylight, then the sun, who took 
The empire of the world with sovereign look, 
Suffusing with a soft and golden glow 
All the dead landscape in its shroud of snow, 
Touching with flame the tapering chapel spires, 
Windows and roofs, and smoke of household 

fires, 
And kindling park and palace as he came ; 
The stork's nest on the chimney seemed in 

flame. 
And thus he stood till Eginhard appeared, 
Demure and modest with his comely beard 
And flowing flaxen tresses, come to ask, 
As was his wont, the day's appointed task. 
The Emperor looked upon him with a smile, 
And gently said : " My son, wait yet awhile ; 



30 TALES OF A WAYSIDE INN. 

This hour my council meets upon some great 
And very urgent business of the state. 
Come back within the hour. On thy return 
The work appointed for thee shalt thou learn." 

Having dismissed this gallant Troubadour, 
He summoned straight his council, and secure 
And steadfast in his purpose, from the throne 
All the adventure of the night made known ; 
Then asked for sentence ; and with eager breath 
Some answered banishment, and others death. 

Then spake the king : " Your sentence is not 

mine ; 
Life is the gift of God, and is divine ; 
Nor from these palace walls shall one depart 
Who carries such a secret in his heart ; 
My better judgment points another way. 
Good Alcuin, I remember how one day 
When my Pepino asked you, ' What are men ? ' 



EMMA AND EGINHARD. 31 

You wrote upon his tablets with your pen, 
' Guests of the grave and travellers that pass ! ' 
This being true of all men, we, alas ! 
Being all fashioned of the self-same dust, 
Let us be merciful as well as just ; 
This passing traveller, who hath stolen away 
The brightest jewel of my crown to-day, 
Shall of himself the precious gem restore ; 
By giving it, I make it mine once more. 
Over those fatal footprints I will throw 
My ermine mantle like another snow." 

Then Eginhard was summoned to the hall, 
And entered, and in presence of them all, 
The Emperor said : " My son, for thou to me 
Hast been a son, and evermore shalt be, 
Long hast thou served thy sovereign, and thy 

zeal 
Pleads to me with importunate appeal, 
While I have been forgetful to requite 



32 TALES OF A WAYSIDE INN. 

Thy service and affection as was right. 
But now the hour is come, when I, thy Lord, 
Will crown thy love -with such supreme reward, 
A gift so precious kings have striven in vain 
To win it from the hands of Charlemagne.' ' 

Then sprang the portals of the chamber wide, 
And Princess Emma entered, in the pride 
Of birth and beauty, that in part o'ercame 
The conscious terror and the blush of shame. 
And the good Emperor rose up from his throne, 
And taking her white hand within his own 
Placed it in Eginhard's, and said : " My son, 
This is the gift thy constant zeal hath won ; 
Thus I repay the royal debt I owe, 
And cover up the footprints in the snow." 



INTERLUDE. 

Thus ran the Student's pleasant rhyme 
Of Eginhard and love and youth ; 
Some doubted its historic truth, 
But while they doubted, ne'ertheless 
Saw in it gleams of truthfulness, 
And thanked the Monk of Lauresheim. 

This they discussed in various mood ; 
Then in the silence that ensued 
Was heard a sharp and sudden sound 
As of a bowstring snapped in air ; 
And the Musician with a bound 
Sprang up in terror from his chair, 
And for a moment listening stood, 



34 TALES OF A WAYSIDE INX. 

Then strode across the room, and found 

His dear, his darling violin 

Still lying safe asleep within 

Its little cradle, like a child 

That gives a sudden cry of pain, 

And wakes to fall asleep again ; 

And as he looked at it and smiled, 

By the uncertain light beguiled, 

Despair ! two strings were broken in twain. 

While all lamented and made moan, 
With many a sympathetic word 
As if the loss had been their own, 
Deeming the tones they might have heard 
Sweeter than they had heard before, 
They saw the Landlord at the door, 
The missing man, the portly Squire ! 
He had not entered, but he stood 
With both arms full of seasoned wood, 
To feed the much-devouring fire, 



INTERLUDE. 35 

That like a lion in a cage 

Lashed its long tail and roared with rage. 

The missing man ! Ah, yes, they said, 
Missing, but whither had he fled ? 
Where had he hidden himself away ? 
No farther than the barn or shed ; 
He had not hidden himself, nor fled ; 
How should he pass the rainy day 
But in his barn with hens and hay, 
Or mending harness, cart, or sled ? 
Now, having come, he needs must stay 
And tell his tale as well as they. 

The Landlord answered only : " These 
Are logs from the dead apple-trees 
Of the old orchard planted here 
By the first Howe of Sudbury. 
Nor oak nor maple has so clear 
A flame, or burns so quietly, 



> TALES OF A WAYSIDE INN. 

Or leaves an ash so clean and white " ; 

Thinking by this to put aside 

The impending tale that terrified ; 

When suddenly, to his delight, 

The Theologian interposed, 

Saying that when the door was closed, 

And they had stopped that draft of cold, 

Unpleasant night air, he proposed 

To tell a tale world-wide apart 

From that the Student had just told ; 

"World-wide apart, and yet akin, 

As showing that the human heart 

Beats on forever as of old, 

As well beneath the snow-white fold 

Of Quaker kerchief, as within 

Sendal or silk or cloth of gold, 

And without preface would begin. 

And then the clamorous clock struck eight, 
Deliberate, with sonorous chime 



INTERLUDE. 37 

Slow measuring out the march of time, 

Like some grave Consul of old Rome 

In Jupiter's temple driving home 

The nails that marked the year and date. 

Thus interrupted in his rhyme, 

The Theologian needs must wait ; 

But quoted Horace, where he sings 

The dire Necessity of things, 

That drives into the roofs sublime 

Of new-built houses of the great 

The adamantine nails of Fate. J 

When ceased the little carillon 
To herald from its wooden tower 
The important transit of the hour, 
The Theologian hastened on, 
Content to be allowed at last 
To sing his Idyl of the Past. 



THE THEOLOGIAN'S TALE. 

ELIZABETH. 
I. 

" Ah, how short are the days ! How soon the 

night overtakes us ! 
In the old country the twilight is longer ; but 

here in the forest 
Suddenly comes the dark, with hardly a pause 

in its coming, 
Hardly a moment between the two lights, the 

day and the lamplight ; 
Yet how grand is the winter ! How spotless 

the snow is, and perfect ! " 

Thus spake Elizabeth Haddon at nightfall to 
Hannah the housemaid, 
As in the farm-house kitchen, that served for 
kitchen and parlor, 



ELIZABETH. 39 

By the window she sat witli her work, and looked 
on a landscape 

White as the great white sheet that Peter saw 
in his vision, 

By the four corners let clown and descending 
out of the heavens. 

Covered with snow were the forests of pine, and 
the fields and the meadows. 

Nothing was dark but the sky, and the distant 
Delaware flowing 

Down from its native hills, a peaceful and boun- 
tiful river. 

Then with a smile on her lips made answer 

Hannah the housemaid : 
" Beautiful winter ! yea, the winter is beautiful, 

surely, 
If one could only walk like a fly with one's feet 

on the ceiling. 
But the great Delaware river is not like the 

Thames, as we saw it 



40 TALES OF A WAYSIDE INN. 

Out of our upper windows in Rotherhithe Street 

in the Borough, 
Crowded with masts and sails of vessels coming 

and going ; 
Here there is nothing but pines, with patches 

of snow on their branches. 
There is snow in the air, and see ! it is fall- 
ing already ; 
All the roads will be blocked, and I pity Joseph 

to-morrow, 
Breaking his way through the drifts, with his 

sled and oxen ; and then, too, 
How in all the world shall we get to Meeting 

on First-Day ? " 

But Elizabeth checked her, and answered, 

mildly reproving : 
" Surely the Lord will provide ; for unto the 

snow he sayeth, 
Be thou on the earth, the good Lord sayeth ; he 

is it 



ELIZABETH. 41 

Giveth snow like wool, like ashes scatters the 

hoar-frost." 
So she folded her work and laid it away in her 

basket. 



Meanwhile Hannah the housemaid had closed 
and fastened the shutters, 

Spread the cloth, and lighted the lamp on the 
table, and placed there 

Plates and cups from the dresser, the brown rye 
loaf, and the butter 

Fresh from the dairy, and then, protecting her 
hand with a holder, 

Took from the crane in the chimney the steam- 
ing and simmering kettle, 

Poised it aloft in the air, and filled up the 
earthen teapot, 

Made in Delft, and adorned with quaint and 
wonderful figures. 



42 TALES OF A WAYSIDE INN. 

Then Elizabeth said, " Lo ! Joseph is long 

on his errand. 
I have sent him away with a hamper of food 

and of clothing 
For the poor in the village. A good lad and 

cheerful is Joseph ; 
In the right place is his heart, and his hand is 

ready and willing." 



Thus in praise of her servant she spake, and 
Hannah the housemaid 

Laughed with her eyes, as she listened, but gov- 
erned her tongue, and was silent, 

While her mistress went on : " The house is far 
from the village ; 

We should be lonely here, were it not for Friends 
that in passing 

Sometimes tarry o'ernight, and make us glad 
by their coming." 



ELIZABETH. 



43 



Thereupon answered Hannah the housemaid, 
the thrifty, the frugal : 

" Yea, they come and they tarry, as if thy house 
were a tavern ; 

Open to all are its doors, and they come and go 
like the pigeons 

In and out of the holes of the pigeon-house over 
the hayloft, 

Cooing and smoothing their feathers and bask- 
ing themselves in the sunshine. " 

But in meekness of spirit, and calmly, Eliza- 
beth answered : 

" All I have is the Lord's, not mine to give or 
withhold it ; 

I but distribute his gifts to the poor, and to 
those of his people 

Who in journeyings often surrender their lives 
to his service. 

His, not mine, are the gifts, and only so far can 
I make them 



44 TALES OF A WAYSIDE INN. 

Mine, as in giving I add my heart to whatever 

is given. 
Therefore my excellent father first built this 

house in the clearing ; 
Though he came not himself, I came ; for the 

Lord was my guidance, 
Leading me here for this service. We must 

not grudge, then, to others 

Ever the cup of cold water, or crumbs that fall 

i* 

from our table." 

Thus rebuked, for a season was silent the 
penitent housemaid ; 

And Elizabeth said in tones even sweeter and 
softer : 

"Dost thou remember, Hannah, the great May- 
Meeting in London, 

When I was still a child, how we sat in the 
silent assembly, 

Waiting upon the Lord in patient and passive 
submission ? 



ELIZABETH. 45 

No one spake, till at length a young man, a 

stranger, John Estaugh, 
Moved by the Spirit, rose, as if he were John 

the Apostle, 
Speaking such words of power that they bowed 

our hearts, as a strong wind 
Bends the grass of the fields, or grain that is 

ripe for the sickle. 
Thoughts of him to-day have been oft borne 

inward upon me, 
Wherefore I do not know ; but strong is the 

feeling within me 
That once more I shall see a face I have never 

forgotten." 

II. 

E'en as she spake they heard the musical jan- 
gle of sleigh-bells, 

First far off, with a dreamy sound and faint in 
the distance, 



46 TALES OF A WAYSIDE INN. 

Then growing nearer and louder, and turning 
into the farmyard, 

Till it stopped at the door, with sudden creak- 
ing of runners. 

Then there were voices heard as of two men 
talking together, 

And to herself, as she listened, upbraiding said 
Hannah the housemaid, 

" It is Joseph come back, and I wonder what 
stranger is with him." 

Down from its nail she took and lighted the 

great tin lantern 
Pierced with holes, and round, and roofed like 

the top of a lighthouse, 
And went forth to receive the coming guest at 

the doorway, 
Casting into the dark a network of glimmer and 

shadow 
Over the falling snow, the yellow sleigh, and the 

horses, 



ELIZABETH. 47 

And the forms of men, snow-covered, 'looming 

gigantic. 
Then giving Joseph the lantern, she entered 

the house with the stranger. 
Youthful he was and tall, and his cheeks aglow 

with the night air ; 
And as he entered, Elizabeth rose, and, going 

to meet him, 
As if an unseen power had announced and pre- 
ceded his presence, 
And he had come as one whose coming had long 

been expected, 
Quietly gave him her hand, and said, " Thou 

art welcome, John Estaugh." 
And the stranger replied, with staid and quiet 

behavior, 
" Dost thou remember me still, Elizabeth ? After 

so many 
Years have passed, it seemeth a wonderful thing 

that I find thee. 



48 TALES OF A WAYSIDE JNX. 

Surely the hand of the Lord conducted me here 

to thy threshold. 
For as I journeyed along, and pondered alone 

and in silence 
On his ways, that are past finding out, I saw in 

the snow-mist, 
Seemingly weary with travel, a wayfarer, who by 

the wayside 
Paused and waited. Forthwith I remembered 

Queen Candace's eunuch, 
How on the way that goes down from Jerusa- 
lem unto Gaza, 
Reading Esaias the Prophet, he journeyed, and 

spake unto Philip, 
Praying him to come up and sit in his chariot 

with him. 
So I greeted the man, and he mounted the sledge 

beside me, 
And as we talked on the way he told me of thee 

and thy homestead, 



ELIZABETH. 49 

How, being led by the light of the Spirit, that 

never deceive th, 
Full of zeal for the work of the Lord, thou hadst 

come to this country. 
And I remembered thy name, and thy father and 

mother in England, 
And on my journey have stopped to see thee, 

Elizabeth Haddon, 
Wishing to strengthen thy hand in the labors 

of love thou art doing." 



And Elizabeth answered with confident voice, 

and serenely 
Looking into his face with her innocent eyes as 

she answered, 
" Surely the hand of the Lord is in it ; his Spirit 

hath led thee 
Out of the darkness and storm to the light and 

peace of my fireside." 



50 TALES OF A WAYSIDE IXN. 

Then, with stamping of feet, the door was 

opened, and Joseph 
Entered, bearing the lantern, and, carefully 

blowing the light out, 
Hung it up on its nail, and all sat down to their 

supper ; 
For underneath that roof was no distinction of 

persons, 
But one family only, one heart, one hearth, and 

one household. 

When the supper was ended they drew their 
chairs to the fireplace, 

Spacious, open-hearted, profuse of flame and of 
firewood, 

Lord of forests unfelled, and not a gleaner of 
fagots, 

Spreading its arms to embrace with inexhausti- 
ble bounty 

All who fled from the cold, exultant, laughing 
at winter ! 



ELIZABETH. 51 

Only Hannah the housemaid was busy in clear- 
ing the table, 

Coming and going, and bustling about in closet 
and chamber. 



Then Elizabeth told her story again to John 

Estaugh, 
Going far back to the past, to the early days of 

her childhood ; 
How she had waited and watched, in all her 

doubts and besetments 
Comforted with the extendings and holy, sweet 

inflowings 
Of the spirit of love, till the voice imperative 

sounded, 
And she obeyed the voice, and cast in her lot 

with her people 
Here in the desert land, and God would provide 

for the issue. 



52 TALES OF A WAYSIDE INX. 

Meanwhile Joseph sat with folded hands, and 

demurely 
Listened, or seemed to listen, and in the silence 

that followed 
Nothing was heard for a while but the step of 

Hannah the housemaid 
Walking the floor overhead, and setting the 

chambers in order. 
And Elizabeth said, with a smile of compassion, 

" The maiden 
Hath a light heart in her breast, but her feet 

are heavy and awkward." 
Inwardly Joseph laughed, but governed his 

tongue, and was silent. 



Then came the hour of sleep, death's coun- 
terfeit, nightly rehearsal 
Of the great Silent Assembly, the Meeting of 
shadows, where no man 



ELIZABETH. 53 

Speaketh, but all are still, and the peace and 
rest are unbroken ! 

Silently over that house the blessing of slumber 
descended. 

But when the morning dawned, and the sun 
uprose in his splendor, 

Breaking his way through clouds that encum- 
bered his path in the heavens, 

Joseph was seen with his sled and oxen break- 
ing a pathway 

Through the drifts of snow ; the horses already 
were harnessed, 

And John Estaugh was standing and taking 
leave at the threshold, 

Saying that he should return at the Meeting in 
May ; while above them 

Hannah the housemaid, the homely, was look- 
ing out of the attic, 

Laughing aloud at Joseph, then suddenly clos- 
ing the casement, 



54 TALES OF A WAYSIDE INN. 

As the bird in a cuckoo-clock peeps out of its 

window, 
Then disappears again, and closes the shutter 

behind it. 



m. 

Now was the winter gone, and the snow ; and 

Robin the Redbreast, 
Boasted on bush and tree it was he, it was he 

and no other 
That had covered with leaves the Babes in the 

Wood, and blithely 
All the birds sang with him, and little cared 

for his boasting, 
Or for his Babes in the Wood, or the Cruel 

Uncle, and only 
Sang for the mates they had chosen, and cared 

for the nests they were building. 
With them, but more sedately and meekly, Eliz- 
abeth Haddon 



ELIZABETH. 



55 



Sang in her inmost heart, but her lips were 

silent and songless. 
Thus came the lovely spring with a rush of 

blossoms and music, 
Flooding the earth with flowers, and the air 

with melodies vernal. 

Then it came to pass, one pleasant morning, 

that slowly 
Up the road there came a cavalcade, as of pil- 
grims, 
Men and women, wending their way to the 

Quarterly Meeting 
In the neighboring town ; and with them came 

riding John Estaugh. 
At Elizabeth's door they stopped to rest, and 

alighting 
Tasted the currant wine, and the bread of rye, 

and the honey 
Brought from the hives, that stood by the 

sunny wall of the garden ; 



56 TALES OF A WAYSIDE IXN". 

Then remounted their horses, refreshed, and 
continued their journey, 

And Elizabeth with them, and Joseph, and Han- 
nah the housemaid. 

But, as they started, Elizabeth lingered a lit- 
tle, and leaning 

Over her horse's neck, in a whisper said to John 
Estaugh : 

" Tarry awhile behind, for I have something to 
tell thee, 

Not to be spoken lightly, nor in the presence 
of others ; 

Them it concerneth not, only thee and me it 
concerneth." 

And they rode slowly along through the woods, 
conversing together. 

It was a pleasure to breathe the fragrant air of 
the forest ; 

It was a pleasure to live on that bright and 
happy May morning ! 

3* 



ELIZABETH. 



57 



Then Elizabeth said, though still with a cer- 
tain reluctance, 

As if impelled to reveal a secret she fain would 
have guarded : 

" I will no longer conceal what is laid upon me 
to tell thee ; 

I have received from the Lord a charge to love 
thee, John Estaugh." 



And John Estaugh made answer, surprised 

by the words she had spoken, 
" Pleasant to me are thy converse, thy ways, 

thy meekness of spirit ; 
Pleasant thy frankness of speech, and thy soul's 

immaculate whiteness, 
Love without dissimulation, a holy and inward 

adorning. 
But I have yet no light to lead me, no voice to 

direct me. 



58 TALES OF A WAYSIDE INN. 

When the Lord's work is done, and the toil and 

the labor completed 
He hath appointed to me, I will gather into the 

stillness 
Of my own heart awhile, and listen and wait 

for his guidance. " 

Then Elizabeth said, not troubled nor wound- 
ed in spirit, 

" So is it best, John Estaugh. We will not 
speak of it further. 

It hath been laid upon me to tell thee this, for 
- to-morrow 

Thou art going away, across the sea, and I 
know not 

When I shall see thee more ; but if the Lord 
hath decreed it, 

Thou wilt return again to seek me here and to 
find me." 

And they rode onward in silence, and entered 
the town with the others. 



ELIZABETH. 59 



IV. 

Ships that pass in the night, and speak each 

other in passing, 
Only a signal shown and a distant voice in the 

darkness ; 
So on the ocean of life we pass and speak one 

another, 
Only a look and a voice, then darkness again 

and a silence. 

Now went on as of oH the qniet life of the 

homestead. 
Patient and imrepining Elizabeth labored, in 

all things 
Mindful not of herself, but bearing the burdens 

of others, 
Always thoughtful and kind and untroubled ; 

and Hannah the housemaid 
Diligent early and late, and rosy with washing 

and scouring, 



60 TALES OF A WAYSIDE INX. 

Still as of old disparaged the eminent merits 

of Joseph, 
And was at times reproved for her light and 

frothy behavior, 
For her shy looks, and her careless words, and 

- her evil snrmisings, 
Being pressed down somewhat, like a cart with 

sheaves overladen, 
As she would sometimes say to Joseph, quoting 

the Scriptures. 

Meanwhile John Estaugh departed across the 
sea, and departing 

Carried hid in his heart a secret sacred and 
precious, 

Filling its chambers with fragrance, and seem- 
ing to him in its sweetness 

Mary's ointment of spikenard, that filled all the 
house with its odor. 

lost days of delight, that are wasted in doubt- 
ing and waiting ! 



ELIZABETH. 61 

lost hours and days in which we might have 
been happy ! 

But the light shone at last, and guided his 
wavering footsteps, 

And at last came the voice, imperative, ques- 
tionless, certain. 
I 

Then John Estaugh came back o'er the sea 
for the gift that was offered, 

Better than houses and lands, the gift of a 
woman's affection. 

And on the First-Day that followed, he rose in 
the Silent Assembly, 

Holding in his strong hand a hand that trem- 
bled a little, 

Promising to be kind and true and faithful in 
all things. 

Such were the marriage-rites of John and Eliz- 
abeth Estaugh. 



62 TALES OF A WAYSIDE INN. 

And not otherwise Joseph, the honest, the 
diligent servant, 

Sped in his bashful wooing with homely Hannah, 
the housemaid ; 

For when he asked her the question, she an- 
swered, " Nay " ; and then added : 

" But thee may make believe, and see what will 
come of it, Joseph.' ' 



INTEKLUDE. 

" A pleasant and a winsome tale," 

The Student said, " though somewhat pale 

And quiet in its coloring, 

As if it caught its tone and air 

From the gray suits that Quakers wear ; 

Yet worthy of some German bard, 

Hebel, or Voss, or Eberhard, 

Who love of humble themes to sing, 

In humble verse ; but no more true 

Than was the tale I told to you." 

The Theologian made reply, 

And with some warmth, " That I deny; 

'T is no invention of my own, 



G4 INTERLUDE. 

But something well and widely known 

To readers of a riper age, 

Writ by the skilful hand that wrote 

The Indian tale of Hobomok, 

And Philotliea's classic page. 

I found it like a waif afloat, 

Or dulse uprooted from its rock, 

On the swift tides that ebb and flow 

In daily papers, and at flood 

Bear freighted vessels to and fro, 

But later, when the ebb is low, 

Leave a long waste of sand and mud." 

" It matters little," quoth the Jew ; 
" The cloak of truth is lined with lies, 
Sayeth some proverb old and wise ; 
And Love is master of all arts, 
And puts it into human hearts 
The strangest things to say and do." 



INTERLUDE. 65 

And here the controversy closed 

Abruptly, ere 't was well begun ; 

For the Sicilian interposed 

With, " Lordlings, listen, every one 

That listen may, unto a tale 

That 's merrier than the nightingale ; 

A tale that cannot boast, forsooth, 

A single rag or shred of truth ; 

That does not leave the mind in doubt 

As to the with it or without ; 

A naked falsehood and absurd 

As mortal ever told or heard. 

Therefore I tell it ; or, maybe, 

Simply because it pleases me." 



THE SICILIAN'S TALE. 

THE MOXK OF CASAL-MAGGIORE. 

Once on a time, some centuries ago, 

In the hot sunshine two Franciscan friars 

Wended their weary way with footsteps slow 
Back to their convent, whose white walls 
and spires 

Gleamed on the hillside like a patch of snow ; 
Covered with dust they were, and torn by 
briers, 

And bore like sumpter-mules upon their backs 

The badge of poverty, their beggar's sacks. 

The first was Brother Anthony, a spare 

And silent man, with pallid cheeks and thin, 

Much given to vigils, penance, fasting, prayer, 
Solemn and gray, and worn with discipline, 



THE MONK OF CA SAL-MAG GIORE. 0/ 

As if his body but white ashes were, 

Heaped on the living coals that glowed within ; 
A simple monk, like many of his day, 
Whose instinct was to listen and obey. 

A different man was Brother Timothy, 
Of larger mould and of a coarser paste ; 

A rubicund and stalwart monk was he, 

Broad in the shoulders, broader in the waist. 

Who often filled the dull refectory 

Witli noise by which the convent was dis- 
graced, 

But to the mass-book gave but little heed, 

By reason he had never learned to read. 

Now, as they passed the outskirts of a wood, 
They saw, with mingled pleasure and surprise, 

Fast tethered to a tree an ass, that stood 
Lazily winking his large, limpid eyes. 

The farmer Gilbert of that neighborhood 
His owner was, who, looking for supplies 



68 TALES OF A WAYSIDE IXX. 

Of fagots, deeper in the wood had strayed, 
Leaving his beast to ponder in the shade. 

As soon as Brother Timothy espied 

The patient animal, he said : " Good-lack ! 

Thus for our needs doth Providence provide ; 
We 'll lay our wallets on the creature's back." 

This being done, he leisurely untied 

From head and neck the halter of the jack, 

And put it round his own, and to the tree 

Stood tethered fast as if the ass were he. 

And, bursting forth into a merry laugh, 
He cried to Brother Anthony : " Away ! 

And drive the ass before you with your staff ; 
And when you reach the convent you may say 

You left me at a farm, half tired and half 
111 with a fever, for a night and day, 

And that the farmer lent this ass to bear 

Our wallets, that are heavy with good fare." 



THE MONK OF CASAL-MAGGIORE. 69 

Now Brother Anthony, who knew the pranks 
Of Brother Timothy, would not persuade 

Or reason with him on his quirks and cranks, 
But, being obedient, silently obeyed ; 

And, smiting with his staff the ass's flanks, 
Drove him before him over hill and glade, 

Safe with his provend to the convent gate, 

Leaving poor Brother Timothy to his fate. 



Then Gilbert, laden with fagots for his fire, 
Forth issued from the wood, and stood aghast 

To see the ponderous body of the friar 

Standing where he had left his donkey last. 

Trembling he stood, and dared not venture 
nigher, 
But stared, and gaped, and crossed himself 
full fast ; 

For, being credulous and of little wit, 

He thought it was some demon from the pit. 



70 TALES OF A WAYSIDE IXX. 

While speechless and bewildered thus he gazed, 
And dropped his load of fagots on the ground, 

Quoth Brother Timothy : " Be not amazed 
That where you left a donkey should be found 

A poor Franciscan friar, half -starved and crazed, 
•Standing demure and with a halter bound ; 

But set me free, and hear the piteous story 

Of Brother Timothy of Casal-Maggiore. 

" I am a sinful man, although you see 
I wear the consecrated cowl and cape ; 

You never owned an ass, but you owned me, 
Changed and transformed from my own nat- 
ural shape 

All for the deadly sin of gluttony, 

From which I could not otherwise escape, 

Than by this penance, dieting on grass, 

And being worked and beaten as an ass. 

" Think of the ignominy I endured ; 
Think of the miserable life I led, 



THE MONK OF CASAL-MAGGIOKE. 71 

The toil and blows to which I was inured, 
My wretched lodging in a windy shed, 

My scanty fare so grudgingly procured, 

The damp and musty straw that formed my 
bed! 

But, having done this penance for my sins, 

My life as man and monk again begins." 

The simple Gilbert, hearing words like these, 
Was conscience-stricken, and fell down apace 

Before the friar upon his bended knees, 

And with a suppliant voice implored his 
grace ; 

And the good monk, now very much at ease, 
Granted him pardon with a smiling face, 

Nor could refuse to be that night his guest, 

It being late, and he in need of rest. 

Upon a hillside, where the olive thrives, 

With figures painted on its whitewashed 
walls. 



72 TALES OF A "WAYSIDE INN. 

The cottage stood ; and near the humming hives 
Made murmurs as of far-off waterfalls ; 

A place where those who love secluded lives 
Might live content, and, free from noise and 
brawls, 

Like Claudian's Old Man of Verona here 

Measure by fruits the slow-revolving year. 

And, coming to this cottage of content, 

They found his children, and the buxom 
wench 

His wife, Dame Cicely, and his father, bent 
With years and labor, seated on a bench, 

Repeating over some obscure event 

In the old wars of Milanese and French ; 

All welcomed the Franciscan, with a sense 

Of sacred awe and humble reverence. 

When Gilbert told them what had come to pass, 
How beyond question, cavil, or surmise, 



THE MONK OF CASAL-MAGGIORE. 73 

Good Brother Timothy had been their ass, 
You should have seen the wonder in their 
eyes ; 
You should have heard them cry, " Alas ! alas ! " 
Have heard their lamentations and their 
sighs ! 
For all believed the story, and began 
To see a saint in this afflicted man. 

Forthwith there was prepared a grand repast, 
To satisfy the craving of the friar 

After so rigid and prolonged a fast ; 

The bustling housewife stirred the kitchen 
fire ; 

Then her two favorite pullets and her last 
Were put to death, at her express desire, 

And served up with a salad in a bowl, 

And flasks of country wine to crown the whole. 

It would not be believed should I repeat 
How hungry Brother Timothy appeared ; 



74 TALES OF A WAYSIDE INN. 

It was a pleasure but to see him eat, 

His white teeth flashing through his russet 
beard, 
His face aglow and flushed with wine and meat, 
His roguish eyes that rolled and laughed and 
leered ! 
Lord ! how he drank the blood- red country wine 
As if the village vintage were divine ! 

And ail the while he talked without surcease, 
And told his merry tales with jovial glee 

That never flagged, but rather did increase, 
And laughed aloud as if insane were he, 

And wagged his red beard, matted like a fleece, 
And cast such glances at Dame Cicely 

That Gilbert now grew angry with his guest, 

And thus in words his rising wrath expressed. 

" Good father," said he, " easily we see 

How needful in some persons, and how right, 



THE MONK OF CASAL-MAGGIORE. /O 

Mortification of the flesh may be. 

The indulgence you have given it to-night, 
After long penance, clearly proves to me 

Your strength against temptation is but 
slight, 
And shows the dreadful peril you are in 
Of a relapse into your deadly sin. 

" To-morrow morning, with the rising sun, 
Go back unto your convent, nor refrain 

From fasting and from scourging, for you run 
Great danger to become an ass again, 

Since monkish flesh and asinine are one ; 
Therefore be wise, nor longer here remain, 

Unless you wish the scourge should be applied 

By other hands, that will not spare your hide." 

When this the monk had heard, his color fled 
And then returned, like lightning in the air, 

Till he was all one blush from foot to head, 
And even the bald spot in his russet hair 



76 TALES OF A WAYSIDE IXN. 

Turned from its usual pallor to bright red ! 

The old man was asleep upon his chair. 
Then all retired, and sank into the deep 
And helpless imbecility of sleep. 

They slept until the dawn of day drew near, 
Till the cock should have crowed, but did not 
crow, 

For they had slain the shining chanticleer 
And eaten him for supper, as you know. 

The monk was up betimes and of good cheer, 
And, having breakfasted, made haste to go, 

As if he heard the distant matin bell, 

And had but little time to say farewell. 

Fresh was the morning as the breath of kine ; 

Odors of herbs commingled with the sweet 
Balsamic exhalations of the pine ; 

A haze was in the air presaging heat ; 
Uprose the sun above the Apennine, 

And all the misty valleys at its feet 



THE MONK OF CASAL-MAGGIORE. 77 

Were full of the delirious song of birds, 
Voices of men, and bells, and low of herds. 

All this to Brother Timothy was naught ; 

He did not care for scenery, nor here 
His busy fancy found the thing it sought ; 

But when he saw the convent walls appear, 
And smoke from kitchen chimneys upward 
caught 

And whirled aloft into the atmosphere, 
He quickened Jiis slow footsteps, like a beast 
That scents the stable a league off at least. 

And as he entered through the convent gate 
He saw there in the court the ass, who stood 

Twirling his cars about, and seemed to wait, 
Just as he found him waiting in the wood ; 

And told the Prior that, to alleviate 
The daily labors of the brotherhood, 

The owner, being a man of means and thrift, 

Bestowed him on the convent as a gift. 



78 TALES OF A WAYSIDE INN. 

And thereupon the Prior for many days 
Revolved this serious matter in his mind, 

And turned it over many different ways, 
Hoping that some safe issue he might find ; 

But stood in fear of what the world would say, 
If he accepted presents of this kind, 

Employing beasts of burden for the packs 

That lazy monks should carry on their backs. 

Then, to avoid all scandal of the sort, 
And stop the mouth of cavil, he decreed 

That he would cut the tedious matter short, 
And sell the ass with all convenient speed, 

Thus saving the expense of his support, 

And hoarding something for a time of need. 

So he despatched him to the neighboring Fair, 

And freed himself from cumber and from care. 

It happened now by chance, as some might say, 
Others perhaps would call it destiny, 



THE MONK OF CASAL-MAGGIORE. 79 

Gilbert was at the Fair ; and heard a bray, 
And nearer came, and saw that it was he, 

And whispered in his ear, " Ah, lackaday ! 
Good father, the rebellious flesh, I see, 

Has changed you back into an ass again, 

And all my admonitions were in vain." 

The ass, who felt this breathing in his car, 
Did not turn round to look, but shook his 
head, 

As if he were not pleased these words to hear, 
And contradicted all that had been said. 

And this made Gilbert cry in voice more clear, 
" I know you well ; your hair is russet-red ; 

Do not deny it ; for you are the same 

Franciscan friar, and Timothy by name." 

The ass, though now the secret had come out, 
Was obstinate, and shook his head again ; 

Until a crowd was gathered round about 
To hear this dialogue between the twain ; 



80 TALES OF A "WAYSIDE INN. 

And raised their voices in a noisy shout 

When Gilbert tried to make the matter plain, 
And flouted him and mocked him all day long 
With laughter and with jibes and scraps of song. 

" If this be Brother Timothy," they cried, 
" Buy him, and feed him on the tenderest 
grass ; 

Thou canst not do too much for one so tried 
As to be twice transformed into an ass." 

So simple Gilbert bought him, and untied 
His halter, and o'er mountain and morass 

He led him homeward, talking as he went 

Of good behavior and a mind content. 

The children saw them coming, and advanced, 
Shouting with joy, and hung about his 
neck, — 

Not Gilbert's, but the ass's, — round him danced, 
And wove green garlands wherewithal to deck 



THE MONK OF CASAL-MAGGIOUE. 81 

His sacred person ; for again it chanced 

Their childish feelings, without rein or check, 
Could not discriminate in any way 
A donkey from a friar of Orders Gray. 

" Brother Timothy," the children said, 
" You have come back to us just as before ; 

We were afraid, and thought that you were 
dead, 
And we should never see you any more.' , 

And then they kissed the white star on his head, 
That like a birth-mark or a badge he wore, 

And patted him upon the neck and face, 

And said a thousand things with childish grace. 

Thenceforward and forever he was known 
As Brother Timothy, and led alway 

A life of luxury, till he had grown 

Ungrateful, being stuffed with corn and hay, 

And very vicious. Then in angry tone, 
Rousing himself, poor Gilbert said one day, 

4 * F 



82 TALES OF A WAYSIDE 1XX. 

" When simple kindness is misunderstood 
A little flagellation may do good." 

His many vices need not here be told ; 

Among them was a habit that he had 
Of flinging up his heels at young and old, 

Breaking his halter, running off like mad 
O'er pasture-lands and meadow, wood and 
wold, 

And other misdemeanors quite as bad ; 
But worst of all was breaking from his shed 
At night, and ravaging the cabbage-bed. 

So Brother Timothy went back once more 
To his old life of labor and distress ; 

Was beaten worse than he had been before ; 
And now, instead of comfort and caress, 

Came labors manifold and trials sore ; 

And as his toils increased his food grew less, 

Until at last the great consoler, Death, 

Ended his many sufferings with his breath. 



THE MONK OF CASAL-MAGGIORE. 83 

Great was the lamentation when he died ; 

And mainly that he died impenitent ; 
Dame Cicely bewailed, the children cried, 

The old man still remembered the event 
In the French war, and Gilbert magnified 

His many virtues, as he came and went, 
And said : " Heaven pardon Brother Timothy, 
And keep us from the sin of gluttony." 



INTERLUDE. 

" Signor Luigi," said the Jew, 
When the Sicilian's tale was told, 
" The were-wolf is a legend old, 
But the were-ass is something new, 
And yet for one I think it true. 
The clays of wonder have not ceased ; 
If there are beasts in forms of men, 
As sure it happens now and then, 
Why may not man become a beast, 
In way of punishment at least ? 

" But this I will not now discuss ; 
I leave the theme, that we may thus 
Remain within the realm of song. 



INTERLUDE. $5 

The story that I told before, 

Though not acceptable to all, 

At least you did not find too long. 

I beg you, let me try again, 

With something in a different vein, 

Before you bid the curtain fall. 

Meanwhile keep watch upon the door, 

Nor let the Landlord leave his chair, 

Lest he should vanish into air, 

And thus elude our search once more." 

Thus saying, from his lips he blew 
A little cloud of perfumed breath, 
And then, as if it were a clew 
To lead his footsteps safely through, 
Began his tale as followeth. 



THE SPANISH JEWS SECOND TALE. 

SCANDERBEG. 

The battle is fought and won 
By King Ladislaus the Hun, 
In fire of hell and death's frost, 
On the day of Pentecost. 
And in rout before his path 
From the field of battle red 
Flee all that are not dead 
Of the army of Amurath. 

In the darkness of the night 
Iskander, the pride and boast 
Of that mighty Othman host, 
With his routed Turks, takes flight 
From the battle fought and lost 



SCANDERBEG. 87 

On the day of Pentecost ; 
Leaving behind him dead 
The army of Amurath, 
The vanguard as it led, 
The rearguard as it fled, 
Mown down in the bloody swath 
Of the battle's aftermath. 

But he cared not for Hospodars, 
Nor for Baron or Voivode, 
As on through the night he rode 
And gazed at the fateful stars, 
That were shining overhead ; 
But smote his steed with his staff, 
And smiled to himself, and said : 
" This is the time to laugh." 

In the middle of the night, 

In a halt of the hurrying flight, 

There came a Scribe of the King 



88 TALES OF A WAYSIDE INN. 

Wearing his signet ring, 
And said in a voice severe : 
" This is the first dark blot 
On thy name, George Castriot ! 
Alas ! why art thou here, 
And the army of Amurath slain, 
And left on the battle plain ? " 

And Iskander answered and said : 
" They lie on the bloody sod 
By the hoofs of horses trod ; 
But this was the decree 
Of the watchers overhead ; 
For the war belongeth to God, 
And in battle who are we, 
Who are we, that shall withstand 
The wind of his lifted hand ? " 

Then he bade them bind with chains 
This man of books and brains ; 



SCANDERBEG. 89 

And the Scribe said : " What misdeed 
Have I done, that without need, 
Thou doest to me this thing ? " 
And Iskander answering 
Said unto him : " Not one 
Misdeed to me hast thou done ; 
But for fear that thou shouldst run 
And hide thyself from me, 
Have I done this unto thee. 

" Now write me a writing, Scribe, 

And a blessing be on thy tribe ! 

A writing sealed with thy ring, 

To King Amurath's Pasha 

In the city of Croia, 

The city moated and walled, 

That he surrender the same 

In the name of my master, the King ; 

For what is writ in his name 

Can never be recalled." 



90 TALES OF A WAYSIDE INN. 

And the Scribe bowed low in dread, 

And unto Iskander said : 

" Allah is great and just, 

But we are as ashes and dust ; 

How shall I do this thing, 

When I know that niy guilty head 

Will be forfeit to the King ? " 



Then swift as a shooting star 

The curved and shining blade 

Of Iskander' s scimetar 

From its sheath, with jewels bright, 

Shot, as he thundered : " Write ! " 

And the trembling Scribe obeyed, 

And wrote in the fitful glare 

Of the bivouac fire apart, 

With the chill of the midnight air 

On his forehead white and bare, 

And the chill of death in his heart. 



SCANDERBEG. 91 

Then again Iskander cried : 
" Now follow whither I ride, 
For here thou must not stay. 
Thou shalt be as my dearest friend, 
And honors without end 
Shall surround thee on every side, 
And attend thee night and day." 
But the sullen Scribe replied : 
" Our pathways here divide ; 
Mine leadeth not thy way." 

And even as he spoke 

Fell a sudden scimetar stroke, 

When no one else was near ; 

And the Scribe sank to the ground, 

As a stone, pushed from the brink 

Of a black pool, might sink 

With a sob and disappear ; 

And no one saw the deed ; 

And in the stillness around 



92 TALES OF A WAYSIDE INN. 

No sound was heard but the sound 
Of the hoofs of Iskander's steed, 
As forward he sprang with a bound. 

Then onward he rode and afar, 
With scarce three hundred men, 
Through river and forest and fen, 
O'er the mountains of Argentar ; 
And his heart was merry within, 
When he crossed the river Drin, 
And saw in the gleam of the morn 
The White Castle Ak-Hissar, 
The city Croia called, 
The city moated and walled, 
The city where he was born, — • 
And above it the morning star. 

Then his trumpeters in the van 
On their silver bugles blew, 
And in crowds about him ran 



SCANDERBEG. 93 

Albanian and Turkoman, 
That the sound together drew. 
And he feasted with his friends, 
And when they were warm with wine, 
He said : " friends of mine, 
Behold what fortune sends, 
And what the fates design ! 
King Amurath commands 
That my father's wide domain, 
This city and all its lands, 
Shall be given to me again.' ' 

Then to the Castle White 
He rode in regal state, 
And entered in at the gate 
In all his arms bedight, 
And gave to the Pasha 
Who ruled in Croia 
The writing of the King, 
Sealed with his signet ring. 



94 TALES OF A WAYSIDE INN. 

And the Pasha bowed his head, 
And after a silence said : 
" Allah is just and great ! 
I yield to the will divine, 
The city and lands are thine ; 
Who shall contend with fate ? " 

Anon from the castle walls 

The crescent banner falls, 

And the crowd beholds instead, 

Like a portent in the sky, 

Iskander's banner fly, 

The Black Eagle with double head ; 

And a shout ascends on high, 

For men's souls are tired of the Turks, 

And their wicked ways and works, 

That have made of Ak-Hissar 

A city of the plague ; 

And the loud, exultant cry 

That echoes wide and far 

Is : " Long live Scandcrbeg ! " 



SCANDERBEG. 95 

It was thus Iskander came 

Once more unto his own ; 

And the tidings, like the flame 

Of a conflagration blown 

By the winds of summer, ran, 

Till the land was in a blaze, 

And the cities far and near, 

Sayeth Ben Joshua Ben Meir, 

In his Book of the Words of the Days, 

" Were taken as a man 

Would take the tip of his ear." 



INTERLUDE. 

" Now that is after my own heart," 
The Poet cried ; " one understands 
Your swarthy hero Scanderbeg, 
Gauntlet on hand and boot on leg, 
And skilled in every warlike art, 
Riding through his Albanian lands, 
And following the auspicious star 
That shone for him o'er Ak-Hissar." 

The Theologian added here 
His word of praise not less sincere, 
Although he ended with a jibe ; 
" The hero of romance and song- 
Was born," he said, " to right the wrong ; 



INTERLUDE. 97 

And I approve ; but all the same 
That bit of treason with the Scribe 
Adds nothing to your hero's fame." 

The Student praised the good old times, 
And liked the canter of the rhymes, 
That had a hoofbeat in their sound ; 
But longed some further word to hear 
Of the old chronicler Ben Meir, 
And where his volume might be found. 
The tall Musician walked the room 
With folded arms and gleaming eyes, 
As if he saw the Vikings rise, 
Gigantic shadows in the gloom ; 
And much he talked of their emprise, 
And meteors seen in Northern skies, 
And Heimdal's horn, and day of doom. 
But the Sicilian laughed again ; 
" This is the* time to laugh," he said, 
For the whole story he well knew 
Was an invention of the Jew, 



98 TALES OF A WAYSIDE INN. 

Spun from the cobwebs in his brain, 
And of the same bright scarlet thread 
As was the Tale of Kambalu. 

Only the Landlord spake no word ; 
'T was doubtful whether he had heard 
The tale at all, so full of care 
Was he of his impending fate, 
That, like the sword of Damocles, 
Above his head hung blank and bare, 
Suspended by a single hair, 
So that he could not sit at ease, 
But sighed and looked disconsolate, 
And shifted restless in his chair, 
Revolving how he might evade 
The blow of the descending blade. 

The Student came to his relief 

By saying in his easy way 

To the Musician : " Calm your grief, 



INTERLUDE. 99 

My fair Apollo of the North, 
Balder the Beautiful and so forth ; 
Although your magic lyre or lute 
With broken strings is lying mute, 
Still you can tell some doleful tale 
Of shipwreck in a midnight gale, 
Or something of the kind to suit 
The mood that we are in to-night 
For what is marvellous and strange ; 
So give your nimble fancy range, 
And we will follow in its flight.' y 

But the Musician shook his head ; 
" No tale I tell to-night," he said, 
" While my poor instrument lies there, 
Even as a child with vacant stare 
Lies in its little coffin dead." 

Yet, being urged, he said at last : 
" There comes to me out of the Past 



100 TALES OF A WAYSIDE INN". 

A voice, whose tones are sweet and wild, 

Singing a song almost divine, 

And with a tear in every line ; 

An ancient ballad, that my nurse 

Sang to me when I was a child, 

In accents tender as the verse ; 

And sometimes wept, and sometimes smiled 

While singing it, to see arise 

The look of wonder in my eyes, 

And feel my heart with terror beat. 

This simple ballad I retain 

Clearly imprinted on my brain, 

And as a tale will now repeat." 



THE MUSICIAN'S TALE, 

THE MOTHER'S GHOST. 

Svend Dyring he rideth adown the glade ; 

/ myself was young ! 
There he hath wooed him so winsome a maid ; 

Fair words gladden so many a heart. 

Together were they for seven years, 
And together children six were theirs. 

Then came Death abroad through the land, 
And blighted the beautiful lily-wand. 

Svend Dyring he rideth adown the glade, 
And again hath he wooed him another maid. 



102 TALES OF A WAYSIDE INN. 

He hath wooed him a maid and brought home 

a bride, 
But she was bitter and full of pride. 

When she came driving into the yard, 
There stood the six children weeping so hard. 

There stood the small children with sorrowful 

heart ; 
From before her feet she thrust them apart. * 

She gave to them neither ale nor bread ; 

" Ye shall suffer hunger and hate," she said. 

She took from them their quilts of blue, 

And said : " Ye shall lie on the straw we strew." 



She took from them the great waxlight ; 
" Now ve shall lie in the dark at night." 



103 

In the evening late they cried with cold ; 
The mother heard it under the mould. 

The woman heard it the earth below : 
" To my little children I must go." 

She standeth before the Lord of all : 

" And may I go to my children small ? " 

She prayed him so long, and would not cease, 
Until he bade her depart in peace. 

" At cock-crow thou shalt return again ; 
Longer thou shalt not there remain ! " 

She girded up her sorrowful bones, 

And rifted the walls and the marble stones. 

As through the village she flitted by, 
The watch-dogs howled aloud to the sky. 



104 TALES OF A WAYSIDE INN. 

When she came to the castle gate, 
There stood her eldest daughter in wait. 

" Why standest thou here, dear daughter mine ? 
How fares it with brothers and sisters thine ? " 

" Never art thou mother of mine, 
For my mother was both fair and fine. 

" My mother was white, with cheeks of red, 
But thou art pale, and like to the dead." 

" How should I be fair and fine ? 

I have been dead ; pale cheeks are mine. 

" How should I be white and red, 
So long, so long have I been dead ? " 

When she came in at the chamber door, 
There stood the small children weeping sore. 



the mother's ghost. 105 

One she braided, another she brushed, 
The third she lifted, the fourth she hushed. 

The fifth she took on her lap and pressed, 
As if she would suckle it at her breast. 

Then to her eldest daughter said she, 

u Do thou bid Svend Dyring come hither to me." 

Into the chamber when he came 

She spake to him in anger and shame. 

" I left behind me both ale and bread ; 
My children hunger and are not fed. 

" I left behind me quilts of blue ; 

My children lie on the straw ye strew. 

" I left behind me the great waxlight ; 
My children lie in the dark at night. 

5* 



106 TALES OF A WAYSIDE INX. 

"HI come again unto your hall, 
As cruel a fate shall you befall ! 

" Now crows the cock with feathers red ; 
Back to the earth must all the dead. 

" Now crows the cock with feathers swart ; 
The gates of heaven fly wide apart. 

" Now crows the cock with feathers white ; 
I can abide no longer to-night." 

Whenever they heard the watch-dogs wail, 
They gave the children bread and ale. 

Whenever they heard the watch-dogs bay, 
They feared lest the dead were on their Avay. 

Whenever they heard the watch-dogs bark ; 

i" myself ivas young' ! 
They feared the dead out there in the dark. 

Fair 'words gladden so many a heart. 



INTEKLUDE. 

Touched by the pathos of these rhymes, 
The Theologian said : " All praise 
Be to the ballads of old times 
And to the bards of simple ways, 
Who walked with Nature hand in hand, 
Whose country was their Holy Land, 
Whose singing robes were homespun brown 
Prom looms of their own native town, 
Which they were not ashamed to wear, 
And not of silk or sendal gay, 
. Nor decked with fanciful array 
Of cockle-shells from Outre-Mer." 

To whom the student answered : " Yes ; 
All praise and honor ! I confess 



108 TALES OF A WAYSIDE INN". 

That bread and ale, home-baked, home-brewed, 

Are wholesome and nutritious food, 

But not enough for all our needs ; 

Poets — the best of them — are birds 

Of passage ; where their instinct leads 

They range abroad for thoughts and words, 

And from all climes bring home the seeds 

That germinate in flowers or weeds. 

They are not fowls in barnyards born 

To cackle o'er a grain of corn ; 

And, if you shut the horizon down 

To the small limits of their town, 

What do you but degrade your bard 

Till he at last becomes as one 

Who thinks the all-encircling sun 

Rises and sets in his back yard ? " 

The Theologian said again : 
" It may be so ; yet I maintain 
That what is native still is best, 



INTERLUDE. 109 

And little care I for the rest. 
'T is a long story ; time would fail 
To tell it, and the hour is late ; 
We will not waste it in debate, 
But listen to our Landlord's tale." 

And thus the sword of Damocles 
Descending not by slow degrees, 
But suddenly, on the Landlord fell, 
Who blushing, and with much demur 
And many vain apologies, 
Plucking up heart, began to tell 
The Rhyme of one Sir Christopher. 



THE LANDLORD'S TALE. 

THE RHYME OF SIR CHRISTOPHER. 

It was Sir Christopher Gardiner, 
Knight of the Holy Sepulchre, 
From Merry England over the sea, 
Who stepped upon this continent 
As if his august presence lent 
A glory to the colony. 

You should have seen him in the street 
Of the little Boston of Winthrop's time, 
His rapier dangling at his feet, 
Doublet and hose and boots complete, 
Prince Rupert hat with ostrich plume, 
Gloves that exhaled a faint perfume, 
Luxuriant curls and air sublime, 
And superior manners now obsolete ! 



THE RHYME OF SIR CHRISTOPHER. Ill 

He had a way of saying things 

That made one think of courts and kings, 

And lords and ladies of high degree ; 

So that not having been at court 

Seemed something very little short 

Of treason or lese-majesty, 

Such an accomplished knight was he. 

His dwelling was just beyond the town, 
At what he called his country-seat ; 
For, careless of Fortune's smile or frown, 
And weary grown of the world and its ways, 
He wished to pass the rest of his days 
In a private life and a calm retreat. 

But a double life was the life he led, 
And, while professing to be in search 
Of a godly course, and willing, he said, 
Nay, anxious to join the Puritan church, 
He made of all this but small account, 



112 TALES OF A WAYSIDE 1XX. 

'And passed his idle hours instead 

With roystering Morton of Merry Mount, 

That pettifogger from Furnival's Inn, 

Lord of misrule and riot and sin, 

Who looked on the wine when it was red. 

This country-seat was little more 

Than a cabin of logs ; but in front of the door 

A modest flower-bed thickly sown 

With sweet alyssum and columbine 

Made those who saw it at once divine 

The touch of some other hand than his own. 

And first it was whispered, and then it was 

known, 
That he in secret was harboring there 
A little lady with golden hair, 
Whom he called his cousin, but whom he had 

wed 
In the Italian manner, as men said, 
And great was the scandal everywhere. 



THE RHYME OF SIR CHRISTOPHER. 113 

But worse than this was the vague surmise, 
Though none could vouch for it or aver, 
That the Knight of the Holy Sepulchre 
Was only a Papist in disguise ; 
And the more to embitter their bitter lives, 
And the more to trouble the public mind, 
Came letters from England, from two other 

wives, 
Whom he had carelessly left behind ; 
Both of them letters of such a kind 
As made the governor hold his breath ; 
The one imploring him straight to send 
The husband home, that he might amend ; 
The other asking his instant death, 
As the only way to make an end. 

The wary governor deemed it right, 
When all this wickedness was revealed, 
To send his warrant signed and sealed, 
And take the body of the knight. 



114 TALES OF A WAYSIDE IXX. 

Armed with this mighty instrument, 
The marshal, mounting his gallant steed, 
Rode forth from town at the top of his speed, 
And followed by all his bailiffs bold, 
As if on high achievement bent, 
To storm some castle or stronghold, 
Challenge the warders on the wall, 
And seize in his ancestral hall 
A robber-baron grim and old. 

But when through all the dust and heat 
He came to Sir Christopher's country-seat, 
No knight he found, nor warder there, 
But the little lady with golden hair, 
Who was gathering in the bright sunshine 
The sweet alyssum and columbine ; 
While gallant Sir Christopher, all so gay, 
Being forewarned, through the postern gate 
Of his castle wall had tripped away, 
And was keeping a little holiday 
In the forests, that bounded his estate. 



THE RHYME OF SIR CHRISTOPHER. 



115 



Then as a trusty squire and true 
The marshal searched the castle through, 
Not crediting what the lady said ; 
Searched from cellar to garret in vain, 
And, finding no knight, came out again 
And arrested the golden damsel instead, 
And bore her in triumph into the town, 
While from her eyes the tears rolled down 
On the sweet alyssum and columbine, 
That she held in her fingers white and fine. 

The governor's heart was moved to see 
So fair a creature caught within 
The snares of Satan and of sin, 
And read her a little homily 
On the folly and wickedness of the lives 
Of women, half cousins and half wives ; 
But, seeing that naught his words availed, 
He sent her away in a ship that sailed 
For Merry England over the sea, 



116 TALES OF A WAYSIDE IXX. 

To the other two wives in the old countree, 
To search her further, since he had failed 
To come at the heart of the mystery. 

Meanwhile Sir Christopher wandered away 
Through pathless woods for a month and a day, 
Shooting pigeons, and sleeping at night 
With the noble savage, who took delight 
In his feathered hat and his velvet vest. 
His gun and his rapier and the rest. 
But as soon as the noble savage heard 
That a bounty was offered for this gay bird, 
He wanted to slay him out of hand, 
And bring in his beautiful scalp for a show, 
Like the glossy head of a kite or crow, 
Until he was made to understand 
They wanted the bird alive, not dead ; 
Then he followed him whithersoever he fled, 
Through forest and field, and hunted him down, 
And brought him prisoner into the town. 



THE RHYME OF SIR CHRISTOPHER. 117 

Alas ! it was a rueful sight, 

To see this melancholy knight 

In such a dismal and hapless case ; 

His hat deformed by stain and dent, 

His plumage broken, his doublet rent, 

His beard and flowing locks forlorn, 

Matted, dishevelled, and unshorn, 

His boots with dust and mire besprent ; 

But dignified in his disgrace, 

And wearing an unblushing face. 

And thus before the magistrate 

He stood to hear the doom of fate. 

In vain he strove with wonted ease 

To modify and extenuate 

His evil deeds in church and state, 

For gone was now his power to please ; 

And his pompous words had no more weight 

Than feathers flying in the breeze. 

With suavity equal to his own 
The governor lent a patient ear 



118 TALES OF A WAYSIDE INN. 

To the speech evasive and higliflown, 
In which he endeavored to make clear 
That colonial laws were too severe 
When applied to a gallant cavalier, 
A gentleman born, and so well known, 
And accustomed to move in a higher sphere. 

All this the Puritan governor heard, 
And deigned in answer never a word ; 
But in summary manner shipped away 
In a vessel that sailed from Salem bay, 
This splendid and famous cavalier, 
With his Rupert hat and his popery, 
To Merry England over the sea, 
As being unmeet to inhabit here. 

Thus endeth the Rhyme of Sir Christopher, 
Knight of the Holy Sepulchre, 
The first who furnished this barren land 
With apples of Sodom and ropes of sand. 



FINALE. 

These are the tales those merry guests 
Told to each other, well or ill ; 
Like summer birds that lift their crests 
Above the borders of their nests 
And twitter, and again are still. 

These are the tales, or new or old, 
In idle moments idly told ; 
Flowers of the field with petals thin, 
Lilies that neither toil nor spin, 
And tufts of wayside weeds and gorse 
Hung in the parlor of the inn 
Beneath the sign of the Red Horse. 

And still, reluctant to retire, 
The friends sat talking by the fire 



120 TALES OF A WAYSIDE INN. 

And watched the smouldering embers burn 

To ashes, and flash up again 

Into a momentary glow, 

Lingering like them when forced to go, 

And going when they would remain ; 

For on the morrow the} r must turn 

Their faces homeward, and the pain 

Of parting touched with its unrest 

A tender nerve in every breast. 

But sleep at last the victory won ; 
They must be stirring with the sun, 
And drowsily good night they said, 
And went still gossiping to bed, 
And left the parlor wrapped in gloom. 
The only live thing in the room 
Was the old clock, that in its pace 
Kept time with the revolving spheres 
And constellations in their flight, 
And struck with its uplifted mace 



FINALE. 121 



The dark, unconscious hours of night, 
To senseless and unlistening ears. 



Uprose the sun ; and every guest, 
Uprisen, was soon equipped and dressed 
For journeying home and city-ward ; 
The old stage-coach was at the door, 
With horses harnessed, long before 
The sunshine reached the withered sward 
Beneath the oaks, whose branches hoar 
Murmured : " Farewell for evermore." 

" Farewell ! " the portly Landlord cried ; 
" Farewell ! " the parting guests replied, 
But little thought that nevermore 
Their feet would pass that threshold o'er ; 
That nevermore together there 
Would they assemble, free from care, 
To hear the oaks' mysterious roar, 
And breathe the wholesome country air. 



122 TALES OF A WAYSIDE INN. 

Where are they now ? What lands and skies 

Paint pictures in their friendly eyes ? 

What hope deludes, what promise cheers, 

What pleasant voices fill their ears ? 

Two are beyond the salt sea waves, 

And three already in their graves. 

Perchance the living still may look 

Into the pages of this book, 

And see the days of long ago 

Floating and fleeting to and fro, 

As in the well-remembered brook 

They saw the inverted landscape gleam, 

And their own faces like a dream 

Look up upon them from below. 



BIRDS OF PASSAGE. 



FLIGHT THE THIRD. 



FATA MORGANA. 

sweet illusions of Song, 
That tempt me everywhere, 

In the lonely fields, and the throng 
Of the crowded thoroughfare ! 

1 approach, and ye vanish away, 
I grasp you, and ye are gone ; 

But ever by night and by day, 
The melody souncleth on. 

As the weary traveller sees 
In desert or prairie vast, 

Blue lakes, overhung with trees, 
That a pleasant shadow cast ; 



126 BIRDS OF PASSAGE. 

Fair towns with turrets high, 
And shining roofs of gold, 

That vanish as he draws nigh, 
Like mists together rolled, — 

So I wander and wander along, 
And forever before me gleams 

The shining city of song, 

In the beautiful land of dreams. 

But when I would enter the gate 
Of that golden atmosphere, 

It is gone, and I wander and wait 
For the vision to reappear. 



THE HAUNTED CHAMBER 

Each heart has its haunted chamber, 
Where the silent moonlight falls ! 

On the floor are mysterious footsteps, 
There are whispers along the walls ! 

And mine at times is haunted 

By phantoms of the Past, 
As motionless as shadows 

By the silent moonlight cast. 

A form sits by the window, 

That is not seen by day, 
For as soon as the dawn approaches 

It vanishes away. 



128 BIRDS OF PASSAGE. 

It sits there in the moonlight, 
Itself as pale and still, 

And points with its airy finger 
Across the window-sill. 



Without, before the window, 

There stands a gloomy pine, 
Whose boughs wave upward and downward 

As wave these thoughts of mine. 

And underneath its branches 

Is the grave of a little child, 
Who died upon life's threshold, 

And never wept nor smiled. 

What are ye, pallid phantoms ! 

That haunt my troubled brain ? 
That vanish when day approaches, 

And at night return again ? 



THE HAUNTED CHAMBER. 129 

What are ye, pallid phantoms ! 

But the statues without breath, 
That stand on the bridge overarching 

The silent river of death ? 



6* 



THE MEETING. 

After so long an absence 

At last we meet again : 
Does the meeting give us pleasure, 

Or does it give us pain ? 

The tree of life has been shaken, 
And but few of us linger now, 

Like the Prophet's two or three berries 
In the top of the uppermost bough. 

We cordially greet each other 

In the old, familiar tone ; 
And we think, though we do not say it, 

How old and gray he is grown ! 



THE MEETING. 131 

We speak of a Merry Christmas 
And many a Happy New Year ; 

But each in his heart is thinking 
Of those that are not here. 

We speak of friends and their fortunes, 
And of what they did and said, 

Till the dead alone seem living, 
And the living alone seem dead. 

And at last we hardly distinguish 
Between the ghosts and the guests ; 

And a mist and shadow of sadness 
Steals over our merriest jests. 



VOX POPULI. 

When Mazarvan the Magician, 

Journeyed westward through Cathay, 

Nothing heard he but the praises 
Of Badoura on his way. 

But the lessening rumor ended 
When he came to Khaledan, 

There the folk were talking only 
Of Prince Camaralzaman. 

So it happens with the poets : 
Every province hath its own ; 

Camaralzaman is famous 
Where Badoura is unknown. 



THE CASTLE-BUILDER. 

A gentle boy, with soft and silken locks, 

A dreamy boy, with brown and tender eyes, 
A castle-builder, with his wooden blocks, 

And towers that touch imaginary skies. 

t 

A fearless rider on his father's knee, 
An eager listener unto stories told 

At the Round Table of the nursery, 
Of heroes and adventures manifold. 

There will be other towers for thee to build ; 

There will be other steeds for thee to ride ; 
There will be other legends, and all filled 

With greater marvels and more glorified. 



134 BIRDS OF PASSAGE. 

Build on, and make thy castles high and fair, 
Rising and reaching upward to the skies ; 

Listen to voices in the upper air, 

Nor lose thy simple faith in mysteries. 



CHANGED. 

From the outskirts of the town, 

Where of old the mile-stone stood, 
Now a stranger, looking down 
I behold the shadowy crown 
Of the dark and haunted wood. 

Is it changed, or am I changed ? 

Ah ! the oaks are fresh and green, 
But the friends with whom I ranged 
Through their thickets are estranged 

By the years that intervene. 

Bright as ever flows the sea, 

Bright as ever shines the sun, 
But alas ! they seem to me 
Not the sun that used to be, 
Not the tides that used to run. 



THE CHALLENGE. 

I ha ye a vague remembrance 
Of a story, that is told 

In some ancient Spanish legend 
Or chronicle of old. 

It was when brave King Sanchez 
Was before Zamora slain, 

And his great besieging army 
Lay encamped upon the plain. 

Don Diego de Ordonez 

Sallied forth in front of all, 

And shouted loud his challenge 
To the warders on the wall. 



THE CHALLENGE. 137 

All the people of Zamora, 

Both the born and the unborn, 

As traitors did he challenge 
With taunting words of scorn. 



The living, in their houses, 
And in their graves, the dead ! 

And the waters of their rivers, 

And their wine, and oil, and bread ! 

r 

There is a greater army, 

That besets us round with strife, 
A starving, numberless army, 

At all the gates of life. 

The poverty-stricken millions 

Who challenge our wine and bread, 

And impeach us all as traitors, 
Both the living and the dead. 



138 BIRDS OF PASSAGE. 

And whenever I sit at the banquet, 
Where the feast and song are high, 

Amid the mirth and the music 
I can hear that fearful cry. 

And hollow and haggard faces 

Look into the lighted hall, 
And wasted hands are extended 

To catch the crumbs that fall. 

For within there is light and plenty, 

And odors fill the air ; 
But without there is cold and darkness, 

And hunger and despair. 

And there in the camp of famine, 
In wind and cold and rain, 

Christ, the great Lord of the army, 
Lies dead upon the plain ! 



THE BEOOK AND THE WAVE. 

The brooklet came from the mountain, 

As sang the bard of old, 
Running with feet of silver 

Over the sands of gold ! 

Far away in the briny ocean 

There rolled a turbulent wave, 
Now singing along the sea-beach, 

Now howling along the cave. 

And the brooklet has found the billow, 
Though they flowed so far apart, 

And has filled with its freshness and sweetness 
That turbulent, bitter heart ! 



FROM THE SPANISH CAtfCIONEROS. 



Eyes so tristful, eyes so tristful, 
Heart so full of care and cumber, 
I was lapped in rest and slumber, 
Ye have made me wakeful, wistful ! 

In this life of labor endless 

Who shall comfort my distresses ? 

Querulous my soul and friendless 

In its sorrow shuns caresses. 

Ye have made me, ye have made me 

Querulous of you, that care not, 

Eyes so tristful, yet I dare not 

Say to what ye have betrayed me. 



FROM THE SPANISH CANCIONEROS. 141 



Some day, some day, 
O troubled breast, 
Shalt thou find rest. 

If Love in thee 
To grief give birth, 
Six feet of earth 
Can more than he ; 
There calm and free 
And unoppressed 
Shalt thou find rest. 

The unattained 
In life at last, 
When life is passed, 
Shall all be gained ; 
And no more pained, 
No more distressed, 
Shalt thou find rest. 



142 BIRDS OF PASSAGE. 

3. 

Come, Death, so silent flying 
That unheard thy coming be, 
Lest the sweet delight of dying 
Bring life back again to me. 

For thy sure approach perceiving 
In my constancy and pain 
I new life should win again, 
Thinking that I am not living. 
So to me, unconscious lying, 
All unknown thy coming be, 
Lest the sweet delight of dying 
Bring life back again to me. 

Unto him who finds thee hateful, 
Death, thou art inhuman pain ; 
But to me, who dying gain, 
Life is but a task ungrateful. 
Come, then, with my wish complying, 



FROM THE SPANISH CANCIONEROS. 143 

All unheard thy coming be, 
Lest the sweet delight of dying 
Bring life back again to me. 

4. 

Glove of black in white hand bare, 
And about her forehead pale 
Wound a thin, transparent veil, 
That doth not conceal her hair ; 
Sovereign attitude and air, 
Cheek and neck alike displayed, 
With coquettish charms arrayed, 
Laughing eyes and fugitive ; — 
This is killing men that live, 
'T is not mourning for the dead. 



AFTERMATH. 

When the Summer fields are mown, 
When the birds are fledged and flown, 

And the dry leaves strew the path ; 
With the falling of the snow, 
With the cawing of the crow, 
Once again the fields we mow 

And gather in the aftermath. 

Not the sweet, new grass with flowers 
Is this harvesting of ours ; 

Not the upland clover bloom ; 
But the rowen mixed with weeds, 
Tangled tufts from marsh and meads, 
Where the poppy drops its seeds 

In the silence and the gloom. 



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